My Father's Footsteps

Not long ago, and yet what seems ages for me, lived a man with a million dreams. Dreams to fly a plane, to make lots of money, to be an artist and to be someone his father would be proud of. These are only some of his dreams. This man was like Edison. Trying one thing, then another and then another until finally: light!

I really wish I could be like my father. Because although he had a million unrealized dreams, many became true. Most did not but his short life encased many, many beautiful experiences that I am not even capable at this point of making into realities. He has been to Europe, Japan, and Australia. He has flown his own plane, sky dived 100 times and biked across Canada. And so much more.

Here I sit next to my computer, typing out in words something so deep I feel as though I were about to split apart. It's not about the traveling or the excitement and rush of diving from a plane... it's about looking life straight on and proclaiming "Come on! I dare you!"

I can't do it. I never could. There is something broken in me that won't let me be reckless or bold. It won't let me love or hold onto joy. Any joy I do feel is held for less than two seconds at most. I can't cry either. And because of this, I cannot dream.

Not long ago, and yet what seems ages for me, lived a man with a million dreams.

I wish I did.